Breath of Life
by erasmuse
Summary: "No…" I say softly as realization hit me and my planner slips from my hand with a thump on the floor. I may have everything planned down to a T but being pregnant from a one-night stand is nothing that I'm prepared for. Just after the 71st Hunger Games, Effie has to juggle raising a kid and being an escort. Rating's changed to M to be safe.
1. Prologue

_A/n. Hi all, this is my first fanfics so __the characters may be OOC and_ please pardon me with any mistake, especially grammar mistake cause I'm not a native speaker and I don't have a beta. Any feedback is greatly appreciated. 

All characters in the Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.

x

"No. It can't be."

I slowly get up while still feeling nauseous. After I flush the toilet I move to the sink to clean my mouth and getting rid of the rancid smell of vomit. I look at my reflection in the mirror and thinking out loud, "no, it can't be. It's impossible." I stay by the sink for a moment before I rush out to the bedroom as fast as my weak body could carry me.

"Where is it, where is it?," I say as I rummage through my bag. I'm usually organized but just at the time when I need it the most, I can't find my planner. "Dammit!," I exclaim. Frustrated, I shake my bag to get everything out and I still can't find it. "In the living room," I think out loud again.

There it is! I see the book lying on my coffee table. I quickly grab it and flip through the pages and there, marked in the brightest pink ink I could ever find, written the appointment for my last shot, right after the Games.

"Darn!" I exclaim again. I don't usually swear this much, hell, I don't swear at all, but this is not the time to worry about manners. "No no no no no," I am gripping my hair as I sit down. Trying to calm myself, I'm thinking of the time I had the last shot before that. I go to the shelves where I keep all my daily planners since I was five. Flipping through the pages of the one from a year ago, I gasp in horror as I read the date and realize that it's been more than a year before I got my last one.

"Gosh Effie, that's why normal people get a 5-year shot, so that these things won't happen," I say to myself. But here I am, a hopeless romantic, believing that I might find the one and settle down. Well, I have to prepare for it, my prince charming can come anytime and I can't have a family with him if I'm still sterile, so then I settled for the annual one. Stupid, stupid me. I don't know why at twenty-eight I still believe the fairy tales that I read when I was a child. This wouldn't be a problem if I have a monogamous relationship, but being pregnant from a one-night stand is nothing that I'm prepared for.

I slowly walk back to the couch where my current planner is. I skim through the pages weakly as I try to figure out who the father might be. Of course I don't write my 'conquers', as my friends call it, on my journal, it's not like they are scheduled, but at least I can guess from the appointments that I've had. I groan at the sight of the number of dates I've been to in the past months. At least it's consensual, I kept telling myself every time I felt the need to justify my unladylike behavior, remembering the time Ophelia boasted around how she almost have enough to "spend a night with Finnick Odair." Finnick may not show it, but I know the womanizing is not by choice. Just like the pretty siblings from District One. It's too often an occasion that good looking victors sleep around in the Capitol for it to be a coincidence. Not all pretty people sleep around. But then there's me. Although in my defense, it's just my way of coping with the games; Haymitch has his alcohol and I have my late night adventures.

I never thought being an escort would be difficult. I never underestimated it needless to say, it's one of the most coveted jobs in the capitol and just the perfect way to climb the social ladder. However, the emotional part of it is nothing as what I expected. Ever since I was young I couldn't wait for that time of the year. I had my favorites, cheered when they won a fight and survived, and cried when they were gone. Just gone, not dead. No, I never thought of them that way. Thinking back, it's sickening how I used to see the Games, treating it as an entertainment.

It all changed during my first year as an escort, meeting them and knowing them personally makes it all so difficult; it was all too real. The fear in their eyes as they stand in the sun wishing that it's not their name I fish out, their shaking bodies as they take the steps to the podium, and their diminishing hope as it gets closer to the Games.

"What's wrong sweetheart? The Games is not all pride and glory, is it?," Haymitch once asked with a smirk. I don't remember saying anything back to him, I was just sobbing and sobbing. That was the day my first tributes died in bloodbath. They are dead, I then realized. There's no one I could talk to; to say that the Games is awful is just outright traitorous to the Capitol. So I kept to myself and just tried to find some way to make it bearable. At first I tried to busy myself with work but there is very little work in the months between Games. There was the partying and other social events, but they all soon bore me. After a while, the Capitol men can't keep me interested in the long term either and I turn to the physical aspect of it.

Snapping back to reality, I notice I didn't have any date a month before the Games. How could I when I was too nervous for the reaping, I couldn't get myself aroused.

"No…" I say softly as realization hit me and my planner slips from my hand with a thump on the floor. There was only one person who I had sex with in that period. Haymitch.


	2. The baby

_A/n. Hi all, thank you so much for the lovely reviews and alerts. I didn't intend to take this long to post the next chapter but life (read: college) gets in the way. Enjoy!_

All characters in the Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.

x

As the train lurches to a stop, I can't help but thinking of Rosie. I never leave her side this long and I miss my baby already. When the door is opened, I start making my way to the Victor Village. Other escorts just meet their victors and mentors in the justice building but when I learned that Haymitch is a drunk, I made it my duty to make sure he gets to the reaping stage on time. As I walk on the dusty gravel path, I can feel the usual stares from the citizens. My Capitol clothes alone would stand out and being accompanied by Peacekeepers on my sides makes it worse. I suppose I should enjoy the attention to keep my thoughts away from the one thing that I'm really nervous about; I'm gonna meet the father of my baby.

I knock on the door several times. The Peacekeepers are gone after I told them I could go back on my own. I push down the handle and it's unlocked. I guess no one dares trespassing into his house. He may be a drunk but he's still a victor nonetheless. If it were up to me, I'd rather wait outside until he opens the door but the reaping waits for no one. I let myself in and the reeking smell hits me instantly. Even after ten years of this I still can't understand how one lives in this condition. I sigh. At least he's not on the floor this time. I make my way to the dining table slowly. From my experience last year, taking the knife out of his grasp before stirring him up is no good, he will just wake up n slash you on your arm. This time I'm just going to drop a bottle on the floor.

He wakes up as the bottle makes a loud crash on the floor with one arm ready to attack with his knife.

"Good morning! Or shall I say afternoon, " I say as it's almost noon. I make my way to open the curtain and window to let some air and sunshine in. I can hear him groan before I even turn my back.

"Can't you just lower your voice down? It's not as melodic as you think," says Haymitch groggily.

"Well I need to wake you up, don't I? If you stopped drinking and could make yourself be on time for the reaping, I wouldn't have to be here," I say.

"In your dream, sweetheart," Haymitch says.

"One can only dream," I mutter. I still can't believe I have a child from this man, and a beautiful one I must say. It's not impossible though, he's actually handsome and those eyes..

"What?" asks Haymitch.

"I'm sorry?" I reply, startled with his question.

"You looked at me funny," says Haymitch dismissively as he's getting up, "I tell you what, you go ahead and I'll be there before you annoy the whole district with your voice amplified in the square. Unless, you want to join me in the shower?" he asks with a smirk.

I snort. "If your drunken brain can't tell you, I'm already showered, Haymitch. I'll see you there. And don't be late!" I tell him with a pointed look.

That night in the train, after I sent the kids to bed, I stay in the TV room for a while watching repeats of today's reaping. Feeling of hopelessness swirls through me again as I see the hunky tributes from One, Two and Four. Even the ones from the lower tributes are bigger than ours this year. I'm glad I'm less hormonal now because otherwise I would have cried and it would not look good at all.

I hear the clinking of bottles and I see Haymitch making his way to the sofa on my left.

"What is up with you today?" asks Haymitch.

"What do you mean?" I reply.

"Hugging the kids on the way to their rooms and kissing them goodnight? You didn't even make a single comment on their table manners," says Haymitch.

"I just feel like we shouldn't be too harsh on them and the embraces are just my way to show them some support," I say.

He snorts.

"Besides, with you being hardly functional, one of us should take charge," I say.

"You know as well as I do that the odds are not in their favor. Why should we give them false hope?" asks Haymitch.

"It doesn't mean that we have to give up on them," I say.

"Yeah, yeah. But seriously Trinket, what's with your excessive affection? I know you care but that was too much, even for you," says Haymitch.

I guess having a child tingles the maternal bone in my body and I can't help but acting more motherly towards the tributes. I have to be careful with this.

"Really?" I say, acting dumb, "Maybe you never noticed but I do embrace our tributes every now and then," I say again. He doesn't make any remarks on that and we go back to watching TV silently before I feel his stares on me.

"Did you do something to them?" asks Haymitch pointing with his glass at my chest.

I gasp as I realize what he's asking about. "Good night, Haymitch," I huff while getting up from the sofa. I can hear him chuckling as I walk away. His comment is not all wrong besides the fact that it's highly inappropriate, but I get used to it from working with him throughout the years. The breastfeeding does make my breasts bigger.

It is still dark when I wake up. It's Rosie's feeding time and because she's not with me, my breasts are full and in pain. When my attempt to go back to sleep ends in vain, I start prepping up for the day. I go through my planner again making sure everything is on schedule. The train will arrive in the Capitol in a few hours and I have a couple before I have to wake the tributes up. I'm surprised to find Haymitch already awake in the dining room. From the looks of it I don't think he slept at all.

"Haymitch! What a lovely surprise to see you up this early," I chirp.

"Not so loud, woman. If I knew you'd be here this early I would have stayed in the bar cart," says Haymitch.

"No, no, please stay. Some food will be good to absorb the alcohol. Can't have you to be too drunk for the opening ceremony," I say.

Apparently I'm making strange postures to relieve the soreness because he's staring at me again, just at me and not at my chest. I can't help but staring back at him, looking at his features which are also present on Rosie. They are not so visible right now but soon, her features will shape up to be like his or mine. Possibly, they will be a perfect combination of ours.

"Is it about that night?" asks Haymitch breaking me out of my reverie.

"What are you talking about?" I ask back, although I know exactly what he's asking me about.

"I wasn't too drunk to not remember what happened last year, you know," he says nonchalantly. I can feel blood rushing to my face.

"So we slept together, that's all. It was just a one-time thing. What about it, anyway?" I ask.

"You tell me. You've been looking at me all weird since yesterday and I can't think of any other reason," Haymitch says.

"You're drunk," I tell him. I know it's not a good reason but I can't think of a better one right now. I have to make sure he doesn't catch me looking at him again next time. Wait, next time?

"You know, if you want to get laid you just have to ask," he teases.

"I know," I say as I get up. I move to waking up the tributes before he can make any more comment on my blushing cheeks.

As we walk out of the train towards the car, I resist the urge to put my arms around the tributes. I know Haymitch is expecting me to. He already gave me the stare earlier when I coaxed them to eat slowly while not nagging them about using the correct spoon or fork.

"Calm down, sweetheart. Your fidgeting around is not gonna magically make them wonderful. They're probably dressed as coal miners again," says Haymitch when we are seated at the viewing area. He's right of course, our stylists are anything but inventive. Although it's not our tribute's costumes that I'm anxious about, I just can't wait to see Rosie again. As if on cue, the last chariot comes out and there they are, dressed as coal miners complete with the helmets.

We make our way to the chariots after the president's speech is over. Just few more hours, I tell myself. I do my best cheering my tributes and giving them some positive words. I hurry myself out of the training center after I sent the kids to bed. Luckily Haymitch is not in sight and I don't have to answer any of his pestering questions.

The next morning I'm already at the penthouse before everyone is up. I make my round to wake the tributes up and then Haymitch, after I make sure they are really awake. Despite my best attempt to get everyone talking, the mood is solemn throughout breakfast. I rush out of the training center after I did my usual round; sending the tributes to the training area, talking to important people for sponsors and checking if everything is in place. I only have a few hours for lunch and I love to check on Rosie when I can. I grow impatient as I'm being stopped by some people for a little chat. I know they are not interested in our tributes; they have little to almost no chance of winning. I could spin a theory that their true potentials will come out in the arena but after Johanna Mason's year, no one would believe it.

"Isn't that your escort?" I hear a familiar voice asks.

"Going somewhere, Effie?" Haymitch asks. I turn to the voices and see Haymitch standing with Chaff, glass in hand.

"Hello there, Haymitch! Chaff!" I call as I make my way towards them. "I'm just going to have lunch in the city."

"What do you think, Chaff? Shall we get lunch as well?" asks Haymitch. Chaff looks at him as if he just said he wants to stop drinking. I realize my jaw dropped for a second when his question caught me off-guard, I quickly shut it before anyone notices.

"I'm sure Effie wouldn't mind," says Haymitch as he looks at me. What can I say to that, 'yes Haymitch I do mind'? I'm trying my best not to glare at him.

"Of course I don't mind, Haymitch. The more the merrier!" I trill.

The lunch with Haymitch and Chaff was nothing like what I expected. We actually managed to have a decent conversation over meal with of course, the occasional arguments between Haymitch and I. I could tell that Haymitch was disappointed when no one else joined us. After noticing me missing on several occasions in the past few days, he probably expected to catch me in action.

The Games start in no time. I bided the kids' goodbye last night before they went to bed. It was harder than usual as my maternal feelings taking over me. Haymitch is already gone by this time, drinking his sorrow away. He is the most wasted when the Games is on, becoming almost dysfunctional, not that we ever needed him to sign sponsors for our tributes. I focus my attention back at the screen in our private viewing room when the sixty-second mark is almost up. As the gong sounds, I see our tributes running towards the foods and other life sustaining supplies that are scattered around the cornucopia. They are dead the seconds the Careers grab their weapons. Once I hear the canons being fired, I get out of the room to settle some formalities and make the train arrangement for District Twelve. Haymitch will have to wait until our tributes' bodies are back before I can send him home. I can only imagine the horror of facing two mourning families whose kids were put under your care.

As I walk down the streets, I can hear people cheering loudly when their favorites have their ranks up on the betting screen. The Games is not interesting at this time when most tributes are resting and the careers are still preparing for their night hunt, and most people turn to count their wins and losses.

I punch the codes and turn the handle as I hear the 'click' of the lock being opened. I find Rosie in her crib, sleeping peacefully despite all the noises outside. I wonder if her calm slumber is due to knowing that since she lives in the Capitol, she doesn't have to fear turning twelve and have her name written on a slip in a reaping bowl.

"She was waiting for you."

I turn and find my mother standing by the bedroom door. "Oh, hi mother. I'm sorry it took so long, I had to wait until the train departs," I say softly before I turn back to look at Rosie.

"That's right, he has to go back now. I wish you can get a better district," my mother says as she walks towards me. "When are you going to tell him? You can't keep her from him forever you know," she continues.

"I know mother, I know," I say. I wonder just the same.

* * *

_A/n. Thanks to TheDodoBird for letting me use Rosie as Hayffie's baby name. I just love that name for her. :) More explanation on that probably in the chapters to come._


	3. The victors' agreement

_A/n. Thank you all for the alert and reviews. A quick update this time because it may be long before the next one comes, major exams and paper in the way. Feedbacks are greatly appreciated. :)_

All characters in the Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.

x

I'm sorry for the double notification on this chapter but I just realized a major mistake and I have to change it.

* * *

"I can't believe the day has come when I see a permanent scowl on Effie Trinket's face," says Haymitch.

"I just have a lot on my mind right now."

"It must be a tragedy in Trinket's household."

I roll my eyes. I know he thinks that whatever issue I have is very trivial, what do I know about suffering when there are two children in the next rooms having, literally, life or death matters in their hands.

I can't tell him my source of worry of course; that Rosie was not feeling too well when I left her. I've been hiding behind my cheerful mask all day and I thought I had the room all to myself but Haymitch just had to come in to the lounge and see my troubled look. Why can't he just stay at the bar cart when I need him to?

"What do you think of the tributes?," I ask changing the subject.

"The girl is feisty for sure but I don't know if she has any useful skills. The boy on the other hand,"

"Yes, I know...," I sigh, cutting him off.

The girl is seventeen, who was giving me attitudes the whole time. She looked at me from head to toe when she had the chance to, not caring that I was fully aware of her action. I know back in Twelve my look seems out of place, with my wig and full make up, but when she is in the Capitol she'll just see how 'normal' I am compared to the rest of the citizens. But the boy is just thirteen years old, barely into puberty it seems from his lean posture and with the protruding bones, I don't think he will get much stronger in a few days. I didn't have the heart to comment on their table manners but I had to, otherwise Haymitch would get all suspicious again. The girl wiped her mouth with her sleeve when I told them off and she can't stop glaring at me ever since. It's bad enough that I pulled their names out but telling them how to behave seems to be too much. I can't really blame her for shooting daggers at me, she must have thought she was almost out of the reaping.

* * *

"How is she?" I ask my mother.

"She's better now, her fever has gone down,"

I wipe Rosie's hair away from her sweaty forehead. My heart breaks looking at her even paler than usual complexion.

"How long can you stay or do you need to leave soon?"

I look at my watch. "I have few hours, I'll be fine as long as I make it back before dinner,"

"That's great! Emerald just called me for a fitting, she wants a new dress for the interview, something to match with Caesar's. I'll also have a late lunch with my friends since I missed the reaping lunch yesterday," she chatters on.

"Bye, Effie!" she says as she kisses my cheek.

"Goodbye, mother. I'll see you later."

"I still wonder why you can't just get a Caretaker and save you all this trouble," she says before she closes the door.

She knows well why I can't get a Caretaker. A Caretaker is someone who takes care of the kids in the Capitol when the parents are unable to. I never had one growing up because my mother didn't start working until I was old enough to tend to myself. Mothers in the Capitol don't usually have careers; they just stay at home or out and about when the husbands are at work. Workingwomen like some of my fellow escorts and stylists are usually single, or at least not having a family. When a single income is enough, you might as well enjoy the day or busy planning for the coming social events.

Unlike Avoxes, Caretakers choose this job on their own, and they have to be trained to do that. You wouldn't want to hand your children to someone branded as a traitor. Although I can afford one, I don't want to employ them because just like everyone else in this city, they gossip and soon everyone would know I have a child. My mom knows this too but she still let it slip sometimes. She wouldn't ask me to give up my job though, she's too proud having someone in the family involved in the Games.

My grandmother was a stylist for One and she created some of the most glamorous tribute costumes I have ever seen. My mother has her talent, a sharp eye for colors and patterns and hands able to sew the most difficult patterns. Unfortunately, or should I say fortunately, it is not good enough for the Games committee. She tried again and again, year after year, to apply to be a stylist, but she was rejected. She ended up opening her own boutique and channeling all her passion for the Games on me. Growing up, she always kept my spirit for the games, encouraging me to take part in the festivities and when I got in, she was the one throwing me a congratulatory party with all our close friends and family. She is very proud that her daughter is an escort even if it is for District Twelve.

That's why she went off to have a fitting for Emerald Flickerman. With her husband's famous annual fashion change, she has to keep up her appearances. It is a small thing of the Games that she can take a pride in, dressing the wife of the interview's host. I'm glad her success allows her to work from home while her employees managing the boutique, so that she can look after Rosie when I can't.

Time passes by quickly as I nurse Rosie back to health. She is so much better now. Her face doesn't look as pale as before and the tinge of pinkness that is usually present start coming back on her cheeks. She even laughs at some of the funny faces that I pull. I can't bear to leave her. I sigh. A glance at the clock telling me that I'm going to be late if my mother does not come anytime soon.

I hear the door being unlocked.

"I'm here, I'm here. I'm sorry I'm late!" my mother cries. "I got carried away chatting about Finnick when we saw him walking across the street. Oh, how lucky you are to see him up close. Do you know him well? You surely see each other often during the Games. Don't you all mentors and escorts work together?"

"To your first question, no mother, not really. And for the latter, besides Haymitch, I don't work with the other mentors."

"That's unfortunate. You should try harder to be assigned to a better district, hopefully Four. Then maybe you can introduce me to Finnick," my mother says dreamingly.

I shake my head at that. The Capitol's obsession with Finnick Odair can be overrated.

"Well, I have to go now, I don't want to be late for dinner. Bye, Rosie," I tell her as I kiss her forehead. Her lips start to quiver as she realizes my departure.

"Don't cry now, baby. Mommy loves you," I half-shout to her as I gather my things quickly to get out of the house before she starts wailing. "Bye, mother! Thank you so much!" I say for the last time before I close the door.

I walk as fast as I can to the training center. As I take my shortcut through an alleyway, a path that I wouldn't normally take seeing how shady it is, I see someone who looks like Haymitch from the corner of my eye. I take a step back to make sure I wasn't hallucinating and there he is, talking to… Finnick Odair. It's weird that his name was just mentioned by mother earlier. They probably just want to get some fresh air; I thought when I notice the back door of a bar behind them.

"Who else knows about this?"

I stop on my track just when I was about to continue walking. As rude as it is to eavesdrop, my curiosity gets the best of me.

"You, me, some other victors. Just stick to the ones from Three, Seven, Eight and Eleven for now. And of course Four. I'll see what –"

Haymitch ceases talking when our eyes meet. Finnick turns his head following Haymitch's gaze to see what the pause is about.

"Hey there, miss Trinket," Finnick says as he flashes his famous smile.

"He-hello mister Odair," I stutter, "It's good to see you," I manage to say.

"Later, fish boy," Haymitch says as he taps Finnick's shoulder and walks towards me.

I seem to stop breathing when Haymitch eyes didn't leave mine as he comes to my side.

"Shall we?" he asks.

I only remember to move again when he puts his hand to the small of my back and leads me forward to the direction of the training center. Even if he didn't mean it to, the minor gesture feels like comfort after everything that I witnessed. Their conversation may means nothing but I can't help but thinking of the worst when I overheard it.

"I didn't know you like to go to this side of the city, it doesn't seem like a _proper _place for you," he says.

"I think the same can be said for you. I didn't know you need a company to drink, _besides Chaff_," I say, my last part thick with implication. I need to know if he's going to get himself in trouble.

His hand goes to my waist and he pulls me tightly to his side as he whispers, "Now listen sweetheart, forget about what you saw and heard earlier, it won't do you good anyway if anyone hears you roaming at that part of the city."

I nod as I look at him. I don't want him to think that I nod because I'm scared, but because I understand. He's right though; whom would I tell? They might even ask me what I was doing there since it's not my kind of place.

"Ah! We're here! And early for dinner. Don't you just _love_ to be on time," he sneers above whisper level, clearly mocking my obsession with punctuality.

I let him walk ahead of me to have some time for myself. I have to find out if he is doing something treacherous now more than ever. There's no way I'm letting him know about Rosie if he unknowingly puts her life in jeopardy.


	4. Oh for heaven's sake!

_A/n. Thank you all who have reviewed this story, they mean a lot to me. :) Thanks for the alerts too ofc! I'm happy that you are interested in this and if you can give some feedback that would even be more awesome!_

All the characters in the Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.

x

* * *

"Haymitch," I call as I knock on his door three times. As usual, his room is my first stop when I make my morning round to get everyone to breakfast. Despite his usual state, he actually manages to wake up to a simple knock on the door when he's here. Probably his conscience tells him that he's in the Capitol and he has to be accustomed to waking up early. Getting him up for the reaping becomes much harder throughout the years. In my first few years as an escort, he'd wake up to the sound of me knocking; I didn't even have to come inside. In the last few years however, it took me longer to wake him up, leaving me to resort to shaking his body that got me slashed with his knife and two years ago, I just made a loud noise by knocking his bottle over. I knew it was impolite but my memory from getting slashed was still fresh that I rather coming off as rude than getting hurt.

I knock on his door again and hear the sound his feet make as they hit the floor. Ensured that he's awake, I start to move towards the tributes' rooms. I'm not too far away from his when I hear a loud sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Concerned, I go back to his door and knock on it again, "Haymitch, please open the door." There is a sound of quick footsteps but it fades away instead of sounding closer to me. Thinking that something wrong happened, I open the door deciding that I will just prepare myself for any rant on personal space later.

I hear the sound of him retching from the bathroom. Being used to see him in hangover state in the morning I grab a glass from his bedside table and bring it to the bathroom, I need to get him hydrated. Just as I expected, I find him crouching over the toilet bowl puking his gut out with his hands grabbing the bowl tightly. I fill the glass with water from the sink and when I thought his round has ended and about to hand him the water, he vomits some more to the bowl. I set down the glass on the sink and get the nearby towel instead and give it to him. He groans, his voice hoarse from the sick, before he wipes his mouth clean while I wait with the water in my hand. I take the towel from his hand and hand him the water as he sits still on the floor by the toilet. I throw the dirty towel to the laundry basket and walk back to him offering my hand to help him stand up. He gives me the empty glass instead and backs away trying to get up on his own; he's too proud for my help.

"Here, take this," I tell him as I shove a pill container into his hands. "It will help with the stomach."

When I didn't know any better that I was pregnant, I used to have some pills for my stomach to relieve the uneasiness after vomiting. I am very fortunate that it didn't have any effect on the baby, apparently they were made from natural ingredients; a rare jewel among many Capitol chemical goodness. I didn't realize that I still have them in my purse all this time.

"Can't afford to have your favorite victor sick for another big, big, day eh sweetheart," he scoffs. Coming from Haymitch, that was as good as a thank you.

"That's absurd. Who says you are my favorite?" I reply before I walk out of his room.

Mabel, our tribute girl, has softened her attitudes towards me in the past few days. She just nods and keeps quiet to whatever I say, never giving me an angry scowl. It is a sign that I have seen on some tributes. While most of Twelve tributes are solemn after their reaping, there have been a few who are simply angry with the situation. These were usually older tributes. Some have their anger died down after a few days while others use it as a motivation albeit the latter are few and far between. Mabel's calmer demeanor lately fits these signs but unfortunately it's because she's given up. Even Haymitch doesn't bother to give advices; I mentally shake my head at this. I do my best coaching them on their etiquette and body language for the interview. Sponsorship can come unexpectedly and the least we can do is to make them likeable, why drive potential sponsors away? I won't let the almost nonexistent sponsors we had for the past years belittling my hope.

Haymitch once again slipped from my view. I've been looking to talk to him about the incident the other day but we're always surrounded by other people whenever I have the time. I smile to myself when I realize how he still has his agility despite being drunk, he managed to sneak away just for the seconds I sent the kids to their prep team, or maybe it's just me who's too oblivious.

I gasp when I see the first tribute makes her appearance and only relax when I realize she's not naked, unlike my initial thought. Her sparkly body hugging dress gives that impression when the light hits her wrong. The loud applause is getting raucous especially from the male audience as she sashays on stage. How original, I thought. 'Desirable' is definitely her angle, just as it has always been all these years for One's female tributes. Flaunting sex appeals during the interview is One's old trick that never gets old. The cheering gets deafening again when Sparkle, thus the dress, is leaving the stage.

"Poor girl," I mumble, knowing her likely fate when she comes out a victor.

"And poor father must have had a heart attack seeing her almost naked," I say coolly.

"Yeah, he must have had a heart attack from _that_," jeers Haymitch.

I look at him and he stares ahead ignoring me, as if the interview fascinates him. It took me a moment to grasp what he was saying before I realize my stupidity. Of course if the father had a heart attack it would be from the reaping or when she dies, not from some silly revealing dress. I resist the urge to put my face in my hands to hide my embarrassment, can't let him know he made me feel dull. Still feeling ashamed, I take my drink in one gulp. This, he notices. He takes out his bottle and hand it my way, I shake my head in response. I've had enough and I have to be sober for tomorrow, there are so many things to handle on the first day. He tilts his head as he mutters a barely audible, "Suits yourself."

I've tossed and turned in bed for the past hours, can't bring myself to sleep. There is no particular thing that bothers me but unconsciously, knowing that something is going on outside my knowledge gets to my nerve. I give up my attempt to sleep and head to the dining room instead trying to find a soothing drink. Since the interview ended pretty late, I decided to stay in the training centre tonight and I will have to start early tomorrow anyway. I switch on the light easily, knowing every single part of this penthouse after all this time.

Ouch. I feel I sharp pain on my foot. "Oh for heaven's sake, Haymitch!" I shriek. I stumbled on pieces of broken glass on the floor, undoubtedly a broken alcohol bottle, and there is a pretty large shard stuck between my toes. I hop to the nearest chair with my good foot and sit down to take a better look at it. I grimace at the sight and cry out when I pull the sharp thing off my foot. With this low tolerance of pain, I wouldn't last five minutes in the Games. Make it one.

Out of nowhere, Haymitch comes and sit on the chair he dragged next to me with a first aid kit in his hand. He takes my damaged foot to his lap and start attending to it while I glare at him fully knowing that the broken glass on the floor was his doing. I mewl in pain when he pours his white alcohol on the wound that I have to focus on my breathing to keep my tears from flowing.

"It's just a small wound, it doesn't even need stitching," he says as he looks up to me. Apparently he can't stop taunting me even when I'm in pain.

"What," I snap when he is still looking at me.

"Shit, you're beautiful," he curses.

He reaches out, his free hand starts moving towards my face, pulling a lock of my hair and rub it in between his fingers. I can feel blood rushing to my face and my eyes widen; I didn't put any make up on! I've never felt more vulnerable in my life especially now that he pushes my hair back behind my ears revealing my bare face that it once curtains. Even my mother always sees me in my full attire these days. I feel his hands linger and he stares at it for a second and I continue freezing when his hand brushes my cheek as he pulls it back. I panic. I thought of running to my room but I can't move anywhere because he still has my damaged foot in his lap.

Thankfully he doesn't say anything and goes back to fixing my wound ever so softly. Who knew this rough man has it in him. He would be so good with Rosie. But would he be happy to know that he has a daughter? Is having a family something that he would want? I know he lives alone back in Twelve and he never shows any desire for one.

"Haymitch,"

"Uh huh,"

"How come I've never seen you with a companion?"

"Have you never? I thought nothing would pass you."

"You have one? Who?," I say with excitement.

He cocks his head towards the liquor and chuckles when he sees the look on face, clearly filled with disappointment.

"Just because you have plenty doesn't mean I need one," he says.

"I don't."

"Really? Isn't that where you've been off to for the past few days?"

"No. Don't turn it on me, you're the one who's been missing. Does that have something to do with - AWW!" I whelp as he wraps my wound too tightly. "Oh, was that too tight?" he asks sarcastically, tapping the bandage into place and drops my foot off his lap to the floor. All the softness was gone.

"Haymitch, wait," I say as I try to get up as fast as I can when he's already few feet ahead of me. It's amazing that someone who's drunk can move that fast, no wonder he could disappear that easily this afternoon.

I try to open his door but it's locked. "Haymitch, I need to talk to you …"

"Go away."

"Open the door, Haymitch. Let me in."

"I'm not gonna just _go away,_" I say after a while when it's apparent he's not going to open the door. I know he's not sleeping so I stay outside, knocking on his door and calling his name repeatedly. When that didn't work, I try something new.

"I didn't know you're close with Finnick," I say as I lean on the wall next to the door, "I mean I know you guys are fellow victors but –" he opens the door in a second cutting me off.

"What is your fucking problem?" he hisses, "If you like Finnick so much, the elevator is just over there," he says as he points to its direction.

"You know that's not what I –"

"I know what you want," he says before he moves towards the elevator. I guess there's no point arguing that it's not Finnick that I want to talk to. Instead of getting to the elevator, he walks past it towards the stairs. Confused, I follow him anyway since it seems to be the only way to talk to him. Few flights up and we arrive at the rooftop. I can't believe I've never been here before, it's actually really magnificent. The view of the Capitol from above with all the buzzing lights and the bustling celebrations of the Games is pretty captivating. I look around to locate Haymitch and I see him by the garden. In such a windy night, the wind chimes over there surely make a lot of noise. Whatever it is that is happening, it seems that he doesn't want anyone to overhear. Can't repeat the same mistake twice.

He turns to me when I was close enough. "What the hell were you thinking?" he hisses, "talking about it was bad enough and you _had _to do it in the freaking training centre?" he asks harshly. I feel my body shrinking under his furious glare.

"I just want to know if you're doing anything dangerous," I say calmly.

"What good is it for you? Afraid to be associated with me? Whatever it is I do has nothing to do with you, sweetheart, you're _just_ my escort," he says. Yes, your escort who was pregnant with your child.

"Haymitch, seriously, if there's anything I need to know –" he cuts me off again.

"No. There's nothing. You just stay there and be pretty and make sure we're on schedule. Can you do that sweetheart?" he asks dismissively before he walks past me to the door.

"Sure. But I can also watch your back, talking to people you don't know, and getting people to like you cause I'm not sure vomit is an attractive smell," I say, my back towards him. I feel his hands on my shoulders turning me around. I try to keep my composure as his grey eyes bore into mine.

"Do you understand what you are getting yourself into?" he hisses.

"No, I don't, so make me understand," I say desperately.

"Not here," he says putting a flower that I didn't know he has behind my ear. My face warms when his hand remains cupped on my cheek.

"There, now you might be pretty enough for Finnick," he says with a snicker. I stand there dumbfounded thinking exactly, what am I getting myself into?


	5. Do you remember that time?

_A/N. Thank you all for the lovely reviews and alerts, I'm sorry that it took so long to update. Enjoy!_

All the characters in the Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.

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"Do you have family, Effie?" Haymitch asks. I pay my attention back to him after looking around at our surroundings. I still don't know why he chose this busy café in the middle of the day to talk. Haymitch seems to know what he's doing so I kept my mouth shut even though I'm feeling uncomfortable with our companies; shady Capitolites who wouldn't make my acquaintances even if they were the last people in Panem. It's a good thing they ignore us while I can bet my button that an escort and a victor having lunch together is not a usual scene here.

"Yes…," I trail, not knowing where he's heading with it.

"Unlike you, there's no one left I love. There's no one they can use against me," Haymitch says. Oh, if only he knows how wrong he is.

"Haymitch..." I say softly. My heart is shattered at his words. His loneliness is apparent in his voice, honest with the absence of sarcasm. Not only that I empathize with him as my care for him have grown all these years, but I'm also thinking of how he would feel about his daughter. Would he be happy to know that he's not alone or more distressed because of the extra liability that is Rosie?

"Not what you expected, huh sweetheart?" he asks breaking my silence. "Now you know better than sticking your nose in other people's business. They are not wrong when they say what you don't know can't hurt you," he says with a sneer. He finishes his drink with a gulp as I remain quiet.

In the past, I might jump at the chance of helping Haymitch, a chance of doing something right and being really helpful for once but his earlier words hit me hard. At first I was just curious of Haymitch's backdoor deal with Finnick but now that I slowly comprehend the implication of being involved in their doings, I can't do it. Rosie is my priority now and I can't do anything that will risk her safety even if it means that she can't know her father.

"My advice sweetheart," Haymitch says rising from his chair, "think wisely. Well, if your stupid wig doesn't make you incapable of that," he scoffs before leaving me alone with my thoughts.

* * *

"Aren't you friendly with the new head gamemaker?" asks Haymitch as he keeps his eyes on the screen, now featuring our boy tribute limping away from the careers, his ankle was sprained earlier in the games.

"Seneca Crane?"

"Yeah. Didn't you two have something together?", he says as he swings the glass in his hand trying to make a point.

"I don't know him well if that's what you're asking," I answer nonchalantly. "And if he still wants to talk to me," I continue with a mutter under my breath. I'm pretty sure anything positive that I had with Seneca was ruined when I told him we should stop seeing each other. He is probably the nicest gamemaker I know and unfortunately, I had damaged whatever it was that we had that may give my tributes advantage in the games.

It is one of the many reasons why I don't let anyone knows about Rosie. Other men who have slept with me would ask if they are the father and sooner or later my acquaintances would find out that none of the Capitolites I know is her father and fingers will point to Haymitch, the only District man that I'm close with. Everyone is free to copulate with anyone they desire but heaven forbids that you have a child without a monogamous partner. Unmarried parents will marry eventually and if you accidentally conceive, there are ways to get rid of the unwanted baby. After years of sending kids to their death, I can't bear to kill another child consciously, especially when she has a chance to live.

The boy's cry of pain as a spear hits him from behind brings me back to reality. I cringe when the boy from Four pulls out the spear roughly from our boy's body, already seems lifeless facing the ground. When no canon was sound after a moment, the career turns the boy's body with his foot and stab him with the spear again right on his heart. The canon sound is heard in a second and I continue breathing again. At least it was quick.

Just when I thought the horror for the night is over, the screen now shows our girl tribute behind a bush, apparently not far from the scene earlier, as another camera shows. Mabel can't hide her fear and I gasp aloud when I see the girl from One creeps behind her. I mentally tell her to run but I know there's no chance for her to escape the impending death. Sparkle locks her arm around Mabel's neck and drags her towards the other careers. Shocked by the action, Mabel didn't have the time advantage to escape and tried helplessly to release herself but Sparkle is too strong for slim Mabel. Sparkle dumps her in front of the other careers. I brace myself for the coming brutality; if the one from Four liked it fast and easy, Sparkle likes to make a show of her kills. The careers were distracted when there was a rustle of leaves nearby, taking the moment, Mabel tries to run away but before she gets far Sparkle's sword slices her stomach open from the side. Instead of making it fast, Sparkle sits on her, torturing her some more as I look away, digging my long nails onto my sleeves. When it seems like the careers are gone, I look back on the screen at the sight of Mabel's bloody mouth moving as if she's saying something. I can't catch her but maybe someone at home could. The sadist beauty knows well how to kill someone slowly. I don't know how long it has been until the canon sounds but it sure seems like forever. As I sat there watching her, I took whatever drink it was in front of me and not until I had it that I realize how hard the liquor was. Haymitch looked at me fascinated when I took my second in one swig.

"I don't know why you drink so much, it doesn't seem to go away however many drinks I have," I tell Haymitch as I'm about to take my third. I make a reminder to not drink too much because the last time I did, Rosie was conceived.

It was similar to this night; our tributes died violently. One tribute was ripped apart by a mutt and another one was killed mercilessly by a career. Mutilated is the more appropriate term I believe. I remember I took Haymitch's bottle from his hands, ignoring his protest and finishing it at once. I then cried with my body shaking while I muttered "they are just children" repeatedly. Haymitch rubbed my back trying to calm me down and I don't know who started it but our lips met all of a sudden. I was surprised but I didn't attempt to stop it and neither did Haymitch. When we did stop, I tried to breathe normally as we stared at each other. I was the first one to break it off and left the lounge. I was more drunk than I thought when I stumbled on the way to my room. I felt Haymitch's hands on my arms helping me to stand and I couldn't help but leaning on him when he half-supported my body as we walked to my bed. The next thing I know, we laid on my bed with his hot breath all over my neck. I dismissed the annoying voice in my head that kept telling me that it's Haymitch's warm body on top of mine and I should stop. I couldn't. I'd take anything that would ease the pain at this stage and his kisses were doing just that. Only when I woke up naked next to him the next morning with pounding head that I thought, I probably should. I slipped out of the bed quietly and made my way to the bathroom. I will never know what his reaction would be since when I finished showering, he was already gone. None of us brought it up and he didn't say anything until he boarded the train back to Twelve.

Remembering the incident I stop from taking the fourth glass and call it a night. I leave Haymitch alone with his drinks pretending not to hear his comments on how the last time I was that drunk, I couldn't get enough of him.

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_A/n. If you noticed, there are several references from THG series. Also, I raised the rating to M just to be safe, I don't know if it's necessary but who knows._


	6. This discussion is not over, sweetheart

A/n. Thank you so much for the reviews and alerts! I'm so sorry this update took so long. I had outlined the story from the beginning but I just realized something in Mockingjay that won't work with where the story goes and I've been trying to figuring it out, how to continue the story and stay with canon, and thus the delay in my writing. Unfortunately, I haven't got them all figured out so the next update will take a long time and meanwhile, I hope you like the short chapter.

The characters in the Hunger Games, and some excerpts in this chapter, belong to Suzanne Collins.

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I can't exactly point my finger to what makes this year games to be different. Haymitch told me earlier that "we have a couple of fighters for tributes" this year, which is unusual for district Twelve. The fact that Katniss volunteered for her sister was already an unusual trait, nothing that the district has had in over, well however long the games have been. It's not just that, even the air seems different this year. Haymitch told me what the three fingers gesture means after my endless queries and he said something about admiration and respect. As the games went, Twelve is not the only one having admiration and respect for Katniss, apparently Eleven as well with the bread they sent. For such a district, that must have cost a fortune! I guess I can never understand them, what with the hulking boy from Eleven sparing Katniss' life because she helped the sweet little girl from his district.

I shake my head a little, I have to stop thinking about those things. What matters now is that Twelve is the only district that has its both tributes alive and with the rule change, they now can go home together. If it weren't for the incident the night after the interview, I would've believed that Katniss' adoring act towards Peeta is based on love and not something that Haymitch helps to fabricate. I decided to stay out of his business this time although there is nothing much to stay out of since he's been kept busy with our eager sponsors, ready to support the star-crossed lovers any way they can. I can't help but beaming with pride when my stories about pearls and their adolescence love paid off. It feels good to be really productive.

With my thought back to the games I focus on the exchange between Katniss and Peeta, huddling closer now to keep warm, to ignore Cato's endless painful moans. The poor boy has been at it for hours, if he has to die I'd rather he has it quickly instead of enduring a long and torturous death. As if reading my mind, Katniss seems to have the same idea. She points her last arrow at him and effortlessly strikes him in the head. And with that kill shot the canon is sound. This is it! They are the only tributes left, and from the same district. Still, no announcement is made. Haymitch and I remain quiet, creases formed on his forehead, waiting for Templesmith to call their victory. Any moment now, I think.

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed," he says. "Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Haymitch's bottle hits the wall once the announcement was over. It was not unexpected, but when it happened it angers us anyway. The mercy of the capitol can only go so far. I knew it was too good to be true when they said two could win this year but I believed it anyway. I brace myself for the worst Haymitch will bring. I know he cares for them so much, more than he ever did for any tributes before them. Even after years of working together I couldn't reach the level of understanding he has with Katniss. The way she understood what every gift sent meant without a single note or word is really fascinating for someone who only knew him for a few days.

I try to be as calm as possible because I have to be when Haymitch is this full of rage, but I start to get panic when Katniss pointed her arrow to Peeta's chest. How could she even think for a second that Peeta would attack her, the love of his life? And those berries, aren't they nightlocks? When more sound of glass breaking interrupting my trains of thought I realize Haymitch is too busy throwing bottles to see the berries on their hands.

"Haymitch," I call as I keep my sight on the screen. Another bottle hits the wall.

"Haymitch!," I call again, louder this time.

"What?" he asks roughly. When silence follows, I know he's seeing what I'm seeing. I wonder if he can also hear the sound of my heart beating as Katniss and Peeta start counting down before my eyes.

"What the hell are they…," he doesn't continue, his nerves must have rendered him speechless. I feel his hands gripping the sofa around my shoulders tightly. I won't be surprised if there'll be dents in the shape of his hands when this is over.

"Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you — the tributes of District Twelve!"

"Haymitch, is it…. They won!" I say jumping with victory. "Haymitch they won!" I turn 180 degree to look at Haymitch and instead of looking at him, I feel his lips crashing onto mine. He tastes bitter, must be the alcohol. I pull away as soon as I realize what is happening. I can't say that I didn't enjoy it but the last time we kissed, it led to something more. His hand is still on the back of my neck even after he noticed that I've pulled away. I couldn't stop my eyes from looking at his lips before he coughs and pulls his hand back. Is it embarrassment that I see on his face? Haymitch being embarassed? That is something new.

I turn to look at the screen again cause I know soon my face would turn so red my white powder won't be able to conceal it. I sigh in relief when I see Katniss and Peeta already reach the hovercraft.

"Can you believe it Haymitch? When the district finally has a winner, we have two victors! I'm pretty sure I'm the first escort to experience this!" I say with glee, already forgetting his rather inappropriate advance earlier.

"Yeah, yeah, calm your horses sweetheart, we have to get going now. Gotta make sure our _two victors _ready for the interview."

I don't quite understand why he doesn't seem happy, both of the tributes are alive! He will bring not only one but two tributes home! He should be thrilled. And he kissed me! Shouldn't he at least be pleased with that? Is he regretting it already? Maybe it meant nothing to him. Yes, it was just euphoria overtaking him. This is classic Haymitch; he could change my mood in a second.

"Aren't you forgetting something, sweetheart?" he asks when I'm already walking towards the elevator.

"What?" I snap.

He doesn't answer, just holding my journal in his right hand with a smirk.

"Right," I managed to say as I grab it out of his hand.

"You dropped something," he says after I had taken few steps away.

I sigh heavily before I turn to face him. He just won't leave me alone, will he? Instead of looking at me, his eyes are fixated on the piece of paper in his hands. As I'm closer I have a clearer look of the paper and I can see that it's not a paper, it's a picture. I stop on my track when I remember the only picture that could fall off my journal. There in his hands, even upside down from Haymitch's hold I can see it, smiling with cream frosting around her mouth, a picture of Rosie from her second birthday, with dark blonde hair and steel grey eyes. Their alikeness is undeniable.

"Effie," he says. Haymitch voice startles me. He rarely addresses me by my name.

"Yes," I reply. I mentally scramble my brain for any story I can use to answer his incoming questions about Rosie.

"Mr. Abernathy, shall we?" asks the capitol attendee. I've forgotten that someone would be here to take us to the hovercraft landing. We were too caught up in the moment to even notice his arrival.

He hands me the picture back. "So that's how your real hair looks like. Didn't picture you as a dark blonde. Though I wouldn't be surprised if you altered your hair," he says as he walks to the elevator, "just like your eyes."

Did that just happen? I readied myself to answer any question he might ask and instead, he simply thinks it's my picture from when I was little. I've got to be the luckiest person in Panem! I quickly tuck the picture back in before he changes his mind.

"Aren't you gonna join us?" he asks when he's already inside. He keeps his eyes on me this whole time, as if saying that he knows something. I only nod when he's telling me things, assigning me to get Katniss while he tends to Peeta. I'm too busy thinking about his new discovery to even protest with the task division, we both know he handles Katniss better than me. When the door opens, I've never been this happy to see a hovercraft, our discussion of the picture can wait, we have more important things to do now.


End file.
